


Walk Tall, King of Fire

by BigGhost



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ignis is lamenting about Noctis p much the whole time, Ignoct if u squint rly hard, Post-Game(s), drabble that i dont wanna look at anymore lmao, jsyk, king!Ignis AU, maybe a little bit of Promnis if u squint harder, this is pre-episode ignis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 16:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12868602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigGhost/pseuds/BigGhost
Summary: Noctis was never meant to be king after the dawn.  But Ignis was.  (Drabble on Ignis becoming king, and how bittersweet it is.)





	Walk Tall, King of Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aequoria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aequoria/gifts).



The dawn is quiet.

There are no birds singing.  No chorus to introduce the sun into the sky.  The light washes over the land like a slow, orange-yellow wave.  Even the daemons disappear in a puff of smoke quietly.

Ignis feels the warmth of the sun on his skin, and welcomes it like a long lost lover.  It hugs him at every corner, and its tender kiss at his face makes tears burn at his unseeing eyes.

Briefly, he thinks about all the times he told Noctis not to stare at the sun when they were children; if Noctis was to sneak into the garden to sleep, he should at least face _away_ from the blinding light in the sky.  Then, Noctis would laugh, and challenge him to a staring contest.  And Ignis would do it, because why not, and Ignis would take in everything about Noctis.  His blue almond eyes, his pudgy, baby-fat cheeks, and how he scrunched his nose with determination.

Ignis always won.

The sun sits comfortably cradled in the distant mountains.  It’s the dawn that Noctis promised him.  Ignis thought he would be overjoyed, and he is, in a way.  But in the same breath, he wants to march up to that sun and push it back down.  Push it down and tell it to never come back, and bring back the night.

Bring back Noctis.

It’s selfish, he knows, to wish that the world would be plagued with the long night for one person.   _Damn them all_ , an angry, bitter part of Ignis thinks.  The rational part tells him that Noctis did what he had to, what he was destined to.  He fell into his fate as the prince raised for the slaughter, for the greater good of his people and his Lucis.

It fills him to the brim with unadulterated fury at the memory of finding Noctis on the throne, impaled by his own father's sword to chase down the Astrals’ mistake into the afterlife.  Prompto had cried when he'd seen him, and desperately tried to yank the offending weapon out of his friend's body.  Gladio ripped it out, and Ignis felt sick when he heard the body thump on the ground.

They buried their friend in what remained of the garden, where Ignis and Noctis had played together as children.  At the time, Ignis wished he could preserve the body like Snow White, lay him in a glass casket surrounded by blooming flowers, and pretend he was only sleeping.

But there was no true love’s kiss to save the day this time.

And damn anyone who speaks ill about Noctis; too many loose tongues in Lestallum slander Noctis’ name as the flakey prince who abandoned his kingdom when they needed him.  If Ignis had less restraint, he would have whisked Noctis away to live their life peacefully, and let the ungrateful subjects rot.

He feels awful for thinking it.

He knows that, if he were them, he might feel the same.

The first sunrise in over a decade is a cause for celebration, despite Ignis’ own despair over it.  The parties in every outpost at every corner of Lucis last for days.  Citizens of Lucis probably won’t remember most of it, what with how much drinking actually happened.

Rebuilding takes place mid-hangover; most of the hunters that are carting around materials and driving off to the other outposts are nursing water and aspirin.  Ignis hears many of them lament the sunglasses they'd thrown out years ago.

Reconstruction begins in Lestallum.  It doesn't take long to have the city back up and running.  The wall is taken down and the refugees assist in making sure resources and food rations go out to the rebuilding effort.  With time, every outpost begins to resemble what Lucis once was.

Insomnia is another monster altogether.

They save it for last; Insomnia’s destruction will take a long time to repair, and more than buildings were lost in the fall of the city.  The bodies will have to be collected.  Perhaps they could make room in the new Insomnia for a memorial.

Construction begins almost as soon as they arrive.  They make due with boarding, finding what salvaged buildings they can to make a suitable shelter.  Droves of trucks filled to bursting with supplies come every day.  Cindy brings what food can be spared to feed the hungry workers.

The bodies of the deceased are infected with the scourge, and miasma seeps out of every crack of their mutilated bodies.  Gas masks are distributed to anyone coming into the city, and thankfully the wall of entry is still intact to keep the incoming safe from infection.  Removing the infected bodies is priority number one.  They think about burying the bodies, but the fear of infecting the soil sits heavy on their minds.  Instead, the bodies are burned in hopes of eliminating the last of the starscourge.  The smoke that rises out of the fire is purple and menacing, and Ignis smells the putrid stench of rotting flesh and something that made his hair stand up.  Soon, it rises into the sky and disappears.

Ignis helps where he can with the rebuilding effort.  It’s mostly overseeing the progress, no pun intended.  Gladio, Prompto, Dave, and what remained of the Kingsglaive refer to him for orders on where to work first, what needs prioritizing and what will take the longest.  “You’ve always been the man with a plan,” they tell him.

Ignis doesn’t have the heart to tell them that, this time, he doesn’t have a plan.  He wishes Regis were here to help him.  He wishes Noctis were here to comfort him.

He wishes they could go back to how things were.  But they can’t know that.

Still, he was always remarkably good at thinking on his feet, and what remained of Noctis’ people needed him.  He had to be strong.  He had taught Noctis that a leader could not look back.  Only forward.  Don’t hesitate.

Walk tall.

* * *

 Slowly, but surely, Insomnia begins to breathe again.  It takes nearly three years to get the Citadel and the closest districts running.  But, without Noctis, the Citadel feels empty.  Wrong.

Ignis avoids it when he can; when they begin putting it back together, he delegates from the garden where Noctis is close by.  Prompto keeps him company too, usually by reading the reports from Dave and the other outposts.

When they come across the bodies of Regis and Clarus, they are buried too.  They are little more than dressed skeletons, and Ignis is glad that he Is unable to see the grotesque remains of the king.  Ignis wonders how much is natural decay, and how much was ravaged by daemons.

Gladio asks that Clarus be cremated and given to Iris.  They could lay him to rest when the Amicitia estate is rebuilt.  Ignis does not refuse.

Regis rests beside Noctis in the garden.  Ignis talks to them sometimes; the silence he receives feels like a knife in his throat.  The muscles clench hard as though he wants to cry.  He swallows it, and basks in the sleeping mist of morning and the soft warmth of the sunrise.

* * *

 

They ask him the ridiculous question one afternoon when Ignis is being briefed on the nearly finished throne room.

Ignis almost sputters, and every part of him holds back a fit.  No.  He could not.   _Would_ not.

“We need a king, Ignis,” Gladio says.  Ignis notes the vague notes of pleading in his voice.  Gladio has always had someone to protect: Iris, then Noctis, now Ignis.  Of course he needs a king.  He needed a cause.  But Ignis is not that cause.  Cannot be that cause.

“You are being ridiculous,” he scolds, and it comes out angrier than he intends.  “I cannot… it's not my place, Gladio, I--”

“You rebuilt this place, Iggy.  You gave us our home back.”  Ignis hears Gladio shuffle and heave a sigh.  “Noct would pick you.”

Ignis stops himself from jumping when he feels Prompto touch his arm delicately.  “Regis picked you, Iggy.  It can't be anyone else.”  Prompto presses his forehead to his arm.  The silent pleading rolls off of him in waves, and Ignis shakes.  “He knew.  You know he wanted you to be king.”

Ignis clenches his fists and bites his lip.  Of course he knows that.  He's been painfully aware of it since they started this project three years ago.  Regis knew he would die; he knew Noctis would die.  He knew Ignis would not leave Lucis and her people to follow them.  And Ignis knew that, from the very beginning, Regis had been secretly grooming Ignis to take over after Noctis’ ascension.  Ignis was the true successor to Lucis from the start.  He wants to yell, and kick and scream...

But he can’t.  These people need him.  Regis’ and Noctis’ people need him.  And a king only goes forward.  Do not look back.

Walk tall.

* * *

 

The throne is too big.  The crown is too heavy.

Ignis shifts uncomfortably in it as Gladio announces him as the new Lucian king in his booming voice.  The room echoes and sings with his name and the applause.

“I present to you: the first of his name, His Majesty the King, Ignis Scientia.”

Deep breaths.

Walk tall.

**Author's Note:**

> i just want this out of my folder, i dont rly like the ending but i cant write anymore for it and i dont want to waste it :(
> 
> maybe ill write more for this that isnt rushed drabbles, and actually oneshots lmao
> 
> find me on tumblr as hamuretu or sugarbath!


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